


That We Could Be So Close, Like Brothers

by Lothiriel84



Series: Who Will Find Me [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Background Relationships, Gen, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sibling Love, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: I sat upon the shoreFishing, with the arid plain behind meShall I at least set my lands in order?(T. S. Eliot,The Waste Land)





	

A dog. Sherlock is keeping a dog in Miss Hooper’s flat, and he can’t decide whether he’s vaguely amused, worried, or a complex combination of both emotions that their _dearest_ sister would love to see played out on the lines of his face.

(Molly Hooper. Mary Morstan. All of his life, Sherlock had been trying to fill in the void left by a sister he couldn’t even remember and yet was part and parcel of the man he was today.)

It’s with some reluctance that he’s finally forced to acknowledge the truth in Mrs Hudson’s statement; it was never about thinking with Sherlock, and while he’s not entirely sure his little brother is as yet fully equipped to understand his own emotions, they’ve finally reached a point where Mycroft is fairly confident he may take a step back and just leave him be.

(He won't go as far as to broach the subject with his dear brother, but he is definitely impressed with the level of connection Sherlock has eventually created with their youngest sibling – regardless of the fact that the combined melody from their violins is still coming back to haunt him in his sleep on occasion.)

“Enough about Eurus,” his brother chides him; his impossible, irritating, much beloved brother, the one and only person that matters the most to him. For a moment there, he’s about to pointedly remind Little Brother that out of the two of them, he’s not the one that needs to be looked after; it only takes him a fraction of a second to decide against it, and he turns his gaze to the Irish Setter that is sitting quietly at their feet.

“Please tell me you didn’t name the dog Redbeard,” he says at last, carefully, as if treading on a thin layer of ice in the early days of spring.

“Mike, actually,” Sherlock grins, and for the first time in longer than he cares to remember he finds himself inclined to indulge in a smile.


End file.
